


Only Just Begun

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Fluff, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2843330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Athos dubiously eyed the small branch Sellotaped to the doorframe above Porthos’s head. “And you are planning on standing there, lying in wait all evening?”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Just Begun

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry that this is so short and unoriginal, but I had so little time in which to write anything. There is, however, plenty of festive OT3/4 fluff!
> 
> Merry Christmas (:

It wasn’t the three men on his doorstep themselves that had wary suspicion creeping onto Athos’s features, but the armfuls of bags and boxes they were laden with.

Aramis hopped from one foot to the other, shivering despite the coat, scarf, and hat he was bundled in. “Are you going to let us in?” His breath misted in white plumes around his head as he spoke. “It’s freezing out here!”

His pity outweighing his good sense, Athos stepped back and swept the door wide with a sigh. “If I must.”

His expression of long-suffering exasperation remained in place as Athos watched Aramis, Porthos, and d’Artagnan deposit their baggage and unwrap themselves from layers of wool. One eyebrow inched upwards when he saw what had been concealed beneath.

“What _are_ you wearing?”

“Brilliant, aren’t they?” Aramis beamed happily, his expression matching that of the snowman grinning out from the front of his blue and white jumper.

“D’Artagnan got ’em for us.” Porthos looked just as pleased, his own jumper a deep forest green, adorned with silver Christmas trees and stars.

D’Artagnan, looking immensely proud of himself, knelt to rummage in one of the bags at his feet. The jumper he wore was bright red, with a cartoon penguin dancing across the chest, but Athos’s attention was soon directed instead to the bundle of navy wool d’Artagnan pulled from the bag and held out to him.

“I’ve got one for you, too,” he announced, wide grin plastered across his face.

Athos stared at the thing in d’Artagnan’s hands as if it might leap up any second and bite him.

“Toldja he wouldn’t wear it,” Porthos said, his voice a deep rumble of amusement.

D’Artagnan pushed the jumper insistently against Athos’s chest. Athos didn’t move, but his eyes followed the thing warily.

“You have to wear it,” d’Artganan declared. “It’s Christmas!”

“I didn’t realise there were specific dress rules pertaining to the festive season.”

“Of course there are. They’re traditions.”

D’Artagnan was giving Athos his best wide-eyed, hopeful plea, and because the last thing he wanted was to see that expression turn to disappointment, Athos relented and plucked the offending garment from d’Artagnan’s fingers.

Letting it fall open, he was greeted by Rudolph, grinning smugly out from the fluffy blue wool. He shot the deer a disdainful glare. “Maybe I will wear it later. When I am significantly more drunk.”

Taking that as a promise, d’Artagnan beamed at Athos’s retreating back as he stalked back to the sofa and picked up the book he had been reading and the glass of wine he had been drinking.

“We got you a hat, too,” Aramis called cheerfully after him. Athos’s only response was a soft, unimpressed growl.

Book in hand, Athos proceeded to studiously ignore the chaos that descended undeterred around him.

D’Artagnan produced a tree from somewhere. Granted, it was a miniature tree and some assembly was required, but he stood the three-foot-tall pine on a table and draped it with lights and tinsel while Aramis set about decking Athos’s halls with yet more tinsel, wreaths of holly, and pearlescent paper snowflakes.

It was Porthos lurking shadily in a doorway that finally aroused Athos’s attention.

“Is that mistletoe?”

“Yep!” Looking extremely pleased with himself.

Athos dubiously eyed the small branch Sellotaped to the doorframe above Porthos’s head. “And you are planning on standing there, lying in wait all evening?”

“If that’s what it takes. You’ll hafta use this door sometime.”

“Hmn. I’m quite comfortable here.”

Porthos’s smile only grew wider as Athos turned back to his book. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to concentrate on the printed words, and Athos had a feeling he had just started reading a paragraph for the second time.

Putting the final touch – a shiny foil star – atop the tree, d’Artagnan stood back to inspect his handiwork.

“Not bad,” he decided, squinting critically. “But next year you’re having a bigger tree.”

Athos kept his gaze on the page, however meaningless the words had become. “Am I indeed?”

“Yes.” D’Artagnan’s response was definitive and brooked no argument. Athos found himself incapable of mustering one.

“Seeing as how I have a tree, albeit a small one, perhaps you should put the gifts beneath it.”

“Gifts?”

Athos inclined his head toward a couple of bags propped in the corner. Opening them, d’Artagnan found five neatly wrapped parcels, each with a label containing a name written in Athos’s elegant hand. One of those names was his.

“You got me a present?” The soft surprise in d’Artagnan’s voice made Athos look up. D’Artagnan was staring at him, at a loss for words.

“Of course.” He hadn’t expected d’Artagnan to be so thoroughly touched by the gesture.

“Thank you.” For once, d’Artagnan didn’t care what may lay within the coloured paper wrapping; that Athos had thought to purchase him a gift at all was enough. Regardless, a cheeky smile crept onto his features. “Can I open it now?”

“No.” The Stern Voice. D’Artagnan pouted, sticking his lower lip out just for effect when Athos’s expression failed to change. But one more night of waiting would make little difference. Laughing, he carefully placed all the gifts at the foot of his tree, then went to fetch those he, Aramis, and Porthos had brought to join them.

When he was done with his arboreal endeavours, d’Artagnan collected the remainder of the carrier bags and headed for the kitchen.

“I’ll get us some snacks and drinks,” he announced, moving onto the next stage of his Christmas plan of action. “Athos, you can choose the movie.” He had just disappeared from view but stuck his head back around the door to fix Athos with his most serious expression. “It has to be a _Christmas_ movie.”

“Yes. Fine,” Athos groused, but his earlier gloomy mood had lifted a little, driven back by the presence of his friends. Just like it always was. The holiday season might still hold some less-than-happy memories for him, but they were less vivid, less painful, when shaded by the bright, open affection now bestowed upon him.

He didn’t always believe himself deserving of it, but it was an inescapable force.

It didn’t take Athos long to select a DVD and set it ready it play. Picking up his wine glass, he watched the liquid slosh gently as he swirled it, lost in his thoughts until Aramis dropped down beside him and waited until Athos lifted his gaze to acknowledge him.

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said, serious now. “I know you hate doing the big celebration thing, but this is d’Artagnan’s first Christmas with us. And his first without his father.”

“I know.” The grim expression on Athos’s face softened a little. “And that is the only reason I’m allowing you to turn my flat into some kind of grotto.”

Aramis grinned, relieved that Athos bore no grudge against them for their invasion. “There’s no reason you can’t enjoy it too.” He took Athos’s hand and laced their fingers together. “Christmas shouldn’t be about dwelling on the past, but looking to the future. Like the song says.”

“Ah, yes. The wise words of Noddy Holder.” Athos offered Aramis a small smile of apology. “I’m sorry for being such a Scrooge.”

Aramis gave Athos’s fingers a squeeze. “It wouldn’t be right to celebrate without you.”

“I’m glad you’re here. All of you.” Athos held Aramis’s gaze for a moment, then cast a pointed look around his lounge. “Forcing festive spirit upon me.” There may have been a wry twist to Athos’s words, but both he and Aramis knew they were sincere. Had his friends not taken it upon themselves to turn up on his doorstep, Athos would most probably have spent Christmas day with only a bottle for company.

That was something they would never allow to happen.

With a warm smile, Aramis leaned into Athos and kissed him, little more than a soft brush of lips that nevertheless conveyed the depth of his affection.

“Oi! That ain’t fair.” Porthos reappeared and plonked himself down on Athos’s other side, scowling unhappily. “How come Aramis gets a kiss? ’E doesn’t even ’ave any mistletoe.”

Crooking an arm up on the back of the sofa, Porthos dangled another sprig of mistletoe over Athos’s head and raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

“How much of that stuff do you have?” Athos asked, wondering why he was so surprised.

“Enough.”

Aramis laughed. “You have to give him points for persistence.”

Athos pretended to consider this for a moment, infuriatingly inscrutable until the smallest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Since it’s Christmas…”

Porthos’s grin flashed briefly but fiercely before his mouth was claimed in a kiss that was soft yet full of heartfelt fervour. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Porthos slid his free hand around the back of Athos’s head, gently tangling into his hair to hold him in place as his tongue slipped past willing lips. Athos gave himself over to that tender passion, as had been inevitable, and it was only when they heard d’Artagnan’s quiet cough that they parted.

D’Artagnan, now complete with a set of reindeer antlers atop his head, had his hands full of bottles and a tray of nuts and chocolate, and a faint blush colouring his cheeks. Porthos, his grin now playfully predatory, waggled the mistletoe in his direction.

“You’re my next victim.”

D’Artagnan’s eyebrows shot up and Aramis laughed at his perfect startled-deer-in-headlights impression. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Porthos gave that a moment’s thought before deciding, “Both.”

Recovering, d’Artagnan gave a despairing shake of his head as he set the snacks onto the coffee table and handed round the drinks. There wasn’t much room left on the sofa, and while no one would have minded him squashing on too, it might have proved rather crowded for the purposes of movie watching. Instead, d’Artagnan snagged a couple of cushions from the armchair and made himself a seat on the floor in front of the sofa, a leg each of Athos and Aramis acting as his backrest.

“Okay, let’s go.” D’Artagnan gave Athos’s knee a nudge and Athos obediently pressed play on the remote. The machine whirred to life and they all watched as a plane came in to land on screen, but as the camera cut and panned up to reveal Bruce Willis sat in one of the seats, d’Artagnan twisted to frown up at Athos.

“I said it had to be a Christmas movie.”

“ _Die Hard is_ a Christmas movie,” Athos countered reasonably. D’Artagnan scrunched his nose, unconvinced. It was Aramis who came to his rescue, speaking through barely restrained laughter.

“I propose a compromise.” His attempt at mediation was spoiled by his cheeky grin. “We will watch _Die Hard_ if Athos wears his jumper.”

D’Artagnan instantly cheered up while Athos shot the traitorous Aramis a death glare. But there was a warmth in his chest that was at odds with the ice in his eyes, and he was assailed by the truth of Aramis’s earlier words; he only had to look around to know that the past was unquestionably behind him and there was no reason to let it continue to torment him.

He motioned for Aramis to pass him the jumper and pulled it over his head, much to d’Artagnan’s obvious delight.

“ _Now_ can we watch _Die Hard_?” he asked, his pretence at grumpiness now entirely transparent.

“I s’pose askin’ you to wear the hat would be pushin’ it,” Porthos ventured.

“Unless you are looking for some advice on what you can do with the rest of that mistletoe of yours.”

Porthos roared with laughter and threw his arm around Athos, his hand reaching far enough to rest on Aramis’s shoulder as they all settled comfortably against each other and turned back to the television.

Secure within that circle of arm and bodies, with d’Artagnan propped against his knee, Athos knew without doubt that Slade’s assertion was correct: the future really had only just begun.


End file.
